Kate did not move. Her head had fallen on her bosom when he began, now she raised it, and, looking her uncle steadily in the face, she said, “I cannot. I have told Jan my reasons.” “Reasons, indeed! precious reasons. What are they?” Kate did not answer. Her reasons were such as Pasco could not understand. “Kate,” interposed Zerah in an agitated voice, “what is the meaning of this?” “Oh, dear aunt, it is true, I cannot take Jan. I have refused him, and I cannot, will not withdraw the No. In this matter I alone am answerable, and answerable to God.” “I insist,” stormed Pasco. “I cannot obey,” answered Kate. “Cannot—will not obey us who have brought you up. I suppose next you will refuse to obey your father?” “In this matter, yes, if he were to order me to take Jan Pooke.” “I’ll force you to take him.” “You cannot do that, uncle.” She spoke with composure, whereas he was in a towering passion. “Look at this,” said he, snatching up the letter from the table. “I’m dishonoured now, indeed, as Zerah says. If you take Jan, all is well. The old father will find me money, and all runs on wheels. You put in your spoke, and everything is upset. Dishonoured, ruined, beggared—and all through you.” He beat down his hat over his brows, laughed wildly, and shook his fist at Kate. “I was chucked out of the trap t’other day. I wish I had broken my neck sooner than come to this. I’ve nourished a viper in my bosom, and now it turns and stings me.” “Leave her to me,” said Zerah. “You make matters worse by your violence. That is the way with you men. Leave her to me.” Pasco flung himself back in the settle, and thrust out his legs as before, and rammed his fists into his pockets. Before he had held his chin up, now it was buried in his shirt front. Then Zerah pulled her niece into the window. Kate drew a long breath. She knew that now came the worst trial of all. “Kitty,” said the aunt, holding both the girl’s arms, and looking into her face. “Are you utterly heartless? Is it a matter of no concern to you that we should be ruined? You have but to run after Mr. Pooke, and all will be well. Why should you not give way to my wishes and those of your uncle? What have you against the lad? He is good, and he is rich.” “I do not love him,” answered Kate confusedly. “But he is so well off. There is no one with half his prospects in the place. I can’t understand. He likes you. He is desperately fond of you.” “I will never take one I do not love,” said Kate, shaking her head. “And you have heard the condition we are in? Your uncle owes money on all sides. If money is due to him, he cannot recover it. He has sold the farm, there remains only this house. If he sells that, we are without a home. Then where will you be? Come—yield to our wishes, child.” “I cannot, indeed I cannot,” answered Kate, trembling in all her limbs. “I would have taken Jan if I could.” “What is to prevent you?” Kate was silent.